


Love at First Bite

by MiladyDragon



Category: Love at First Bite (1979), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Community: reel_torchwood, F/M, M/M, Reincarnation, Romantic Comedy, Vampires, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampire Count Ianto Jones goes to America to find his soulmate, Jack Harkness.  Things don't quite go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love at First Bite

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Reel Torchwood Round Two, and it was my first time doing the challenge. It was so much fun.

 

Why was it, whenever he'd decided to spend time at the piano that the wolves decided to howl?

And how on Earth did wolves even know where his mansion was, let alone find it on the outskirts of Cardiff?

Count Ianto Jones sighed, and kept playing. Maybe they'd calm down after a while?

No such luck. If anything, they got even louder.

Finally, he got sick of it. "Children of the night!" he shouted. "Shut up!"

And, surprisingly, that seemed to work, except for one lone wolf, whose howl just sort of petered out as if he'd realized all the others had stopped.

Ianto played for a moment longer, then sighed once more and stopped. He glanced toward the decanter and cup sitting on the dark wood, and decided it was time for a little dinner…

Which he ended up spitting out.

"Owen!"

His voice echoed through the empty rooms of the mansion. The house had been his for over four hundred years, and it had settled into its antiquity by developing some serious dampness issues. The fire that burned in the hearth made it a bit more tolerable, but really his borderline OCD made him want to call the closest renovation company to have the place redecorated. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he really didn't want anyone to stumble over his actual "bedroom" in the cellar…

"I'm here…whatcha want, Vamp boy?"

Ianto rolled his eyes. He'd long given up wondering why he'd thought it had been a good idea to make Owen Harper his attendant and general dogsbody. Well, at least he didn't actually smell like he was dead; that would have been awkward…

"How many times do I have to tell you…body temperature!" He thrust the cup into Owen's chest, narrowly avoiding spilling the chilled blood all over the magazines clutched in Owen's pale hand.

"Yeah, well…if you hadn't loitered in your coffin tonight…"

"Are those mine?" Ianto inquired, motioning to the periodicals that Owen was holding.

"Yep." The zombie handed them over. "Lots of hard bodies for you to lust over tonight."

Ianto took them, flipping through the pages, very unimpressed. "Trash…filth…pornographic…" He made to throw them into the fire.

"Whoa! If you don't want them – "

The count passed them back. "Where's my favorite magazine?"

"Whatever you want." The zombie juggled the cup and the returned periodicals, pulling a folded one from his back pocket and handing it over.

Ianto unfolded it, his lips curling upward into a smile. The face that looked up from the cover would have made his heart skip a beat…if it actually beat anymore. There he was… "Jack Harkness," he sighed, pretending that he didn't really just sound like a lovesick schoolboy. "Owen…the more I see him, the more I am sure it's him…the only man I've ever loved."

"Oh, please," Owen scoffed. "That's what you said about the Count de Montespan in 1672 – "

"That was just sex, Owen. This is love." Ianto continued to stare at the magazine. Oh yes, just looking into those eyes, he knew. "This one has a soul, and a very old one; a soul I've known before. I bit him once in Warsaw in thirteen hundred and…thirteen hundred and…" He must be going senile, if he couldn't remember that!

"Thirteen hundred and fifty-six. You forgetting things now? What happened to 'I know everything'?"

Ianto didn't dignify the barb with a response. "I bit him twice in London, in 1941. I knew him then as James Harper, but I lost him in that damned London fog!" It was also the last time he'd actually gone to London, just because the weather had put him such a pissy mood.

"I remember that," Owen put in. "That was the time that that idiot Van Helsing almost got you. If it hadn't been for that cigarette case I'd gotten you for your birthday, he would've driven that stake right through your heart."

Ianto glared at him. "What?"

"He would've made you into a wooden stake pincushion," the zombie reiterated, speaking as it Ianto was a little child.

"What do you want from me? A medal?" He really wanted to smack Owen, but barely refrained. After all, shit was known to splatter. "I don't know why you got me a cigarette case anyway, since I don't smoke."

"Oi! You try to get a gift for the vampire who has everything!"

Ianto snorted. "Jack and I are going down to the cellar to take a little nap."

"If that's what you want to call it…"

"Yes, it is."

"Then I'll leave you to it. I have a nice new rat I want to dissect, anyway."

Ianto barely suppressed a shudder. Owen and his autopsy fetish… "Well, when you finish, tidy up a bit."

"Yes, Master," came the sarcastic response.

With a flutter of his cape, Ianto swept from the room, heading down toward the cellar where his coffin awaited, the magazine held carefully in his hands.

He was on the stairs when he glanced at the cover once more. Jack Harkness' blue eyes looked out at him, and it sent a shiver down Ianto's spine. The mortal was absolutely beautiful, and was the fuel of so many of his undead fantasies.

His eyes were drawn to the articles that were listed down the side of the cover, daring to obscure a bit of Jack's shoulder. "Cheating on your honeymoon can be fun," he read to himself, "How to get your proctologist to tear up his bill by yelling 'Rape!" in the office." His shoes echoed on the stones of the cellar, not having realized he'd reached his destination.

He climbed into his coffin…his very empty, lonely coffin. "One day, Jack Harkness…I will take you away from all of this."

Ianto closed the lid, glad of some alone time with his obsession.

 

* * *

 

There was a sudden pounding on the coffin lid, snapping Ianto out of the nightdreams he'd lost himself in.

"Get your lazy arse up!" Owen's caustic voice echoed from outside. "We have company!"

Ianto shoved the lid up, almost hitting the zombie in the chin on the way up. "Who is it?" he demanded, irritated at the interruption and trying to adjust his trousers surreptitiously.

Owen saw, and smirked. "I think they're some sort of governmental types."

Ianto climbed from the silk interior of the coffin. "How can you tell?"

"It's the suits. No one wears suits like that except the government. Well, maybe you do…"

The vampire shot the cuffs of his jacket. "I have much better taste in suits."

"Yeah, that's what I meant."

"I'm sure." He waved Owen on. "Let's go and get this over with."

Together they stepped into the entry hall of the mansion. Three people stood there; a woman and two men, and Ianto could see where Owen would think they were from the government just from the plain dark suits each wore.

The woman stepped forward, looking pretty bored with it all. "By order of the Cardiff Tourism Board," she began without preamble, "it has been decided that this mansion be turned into an offsite training camp for the Cardiff Blues." She sniffed, looking down her nose. "You and your scalpel-happy friend have forty-eight hours to get out." That brought out a sharp smile. "Have a good evening, Count."

Ianto couldn't help but be shocked by the announcement. "Wait just a moment!"

The woman and her two companions had begun to move toward the front door; they stopped as if they were being controlled by the same string. "Yes?" she asked, sounding smug.

"I don't believe you can just come in here and take my home!"

"We can…if you don't pay your taxes for over one hundred years."

Ianto glared at Owen. The zombie shrugged almost sheepishly. "What can I say…I hate paperwork."

 

* * *

 

It was somewhat less than forty-eight hours later that Ianto was leaving the home he'd existed in for so long.

And really…he didn't think he was going to miss it all that much. At least someone else could deal with the mold problem now. However, that didn't stop him from wishing chronic sinus infections on the entire Cardiff Blues team, and their coaches and its entire support staff.

Because, he had a plan. This was just the impetus he'd needed to put that plan into effect, and nothing was going to stop him.

He smirked at the crowd that greeted him as he left the mansion for the last time. He'd not seen a mob like this since the early fifteen hundreds…it was quite impressive. They even had torches and pitchforks, and there was the obligatory violinist sawing away at his instrument and making it sound like a cat in heat.

"Hell," Owen snorted, "where'd they get all the historical reenactors from? It's like a bad excuse for a renaissance festival out here."

Ianto had to admit that Owen had a point. While he'd expected a bit of a send-off, this was just ridiculous. "I do suppose this means they're going to miss me."

"Like a heart attack, maybe. Look, I think you should let me get your coffin out of the lorry and you could travel it in – "

"Me? Afraid of a little mob?" Ianto scoffed. "Come on, Owen…let's give them a run for their money."

With that, Count Ianto Jones, Vampire, stepped out of the doorway of his mansion and into the crowd waiting for him.

He kept up his regal façade, glaring at the members of the crowd who got too close. They really couldn't do much to him, unless they suddenly developed a mob mentality and decided to come at him en mass. But really, the people of Cardiff had known of his presence for centuries, and they'd left him in peace. This was just their version of a going away party, and Ianto was determined to enjoy it. After all, when he was gone they wouldn't have the excuse to get dressed up and threaten him with weapons that didn't do him any harm.

There was a lone vendor hawking wolfsbane, and the shrill voice over the rumblings of the crowd put Ianto's fangs on edge. He could also smell the sharp tang of garlic in the air…but then, what else was expected? These people knew the legends, knew about vampires. It was only right that they adhere to all the folktales.

"You dirty bat!" a voice shouted, "You bit my mother!"

Ianto stopped, lowering the cape that he'd instinctively used to cover his nose from the garlic smell. The man was tall, and looked as if he'd enjoyed one too many pints down at the local pub. "What is your name?" he asked curiously.

"Johnny Davies," the man answered belligerently.

Ianto smiled, closed-mouthed. "No, Johnny…I bit your mother… _and_ your grandmother."

That made the man surge forward, brandishing a cricket bat like he actually knew how to use it. Ianto took a step back, opened his mouth, and hissed, an acrid smoke issuing from his fangs. _Shit, I'll have to brush my teeth again,_ he thought to himself angrily.

It did the trick though; Johnny Davies gagged, and collapsed backward into the crowd behind him.

Ianto smirked as he heard someone from the mob say, "Don't mess with the Count…"

Damn right.

He stalked his way to the lorry that Owen had hired for their trip to the airport. "Harwoods" was displayed prominently on the door; but instead of opening it and sitting inside the cab, Ianto stepped up onto the running board and hooked his hand through the open window, glaring at the crowd. "You can have your fun now," he said, "but remember this: without me, Cardiff will be about as exciting as…Abergavenny, on a Monday night."

He couldn't control the smirk that last shot caused. The entire mob went quiet, and they glanced at each other as if finally realizing just what was going on. Oh yes…they were going to miss him.

Ianto caught Owen making a rude gesture out of his side of the lorry, as the zombie started the engine and began driving off. The vampire made his final exit a statement: cloak flying, as he held onto the lorry's door for dear life – or dear existence, as the case may be – and turned toward the now cowed crowd.

He was going to be starting over again…in America.

He wouldn't miss the bloody peasants one bit.

All right…well, maybe a little…

 

* * *

 

The flight was boring. At least Owen had managed to get Ianto something to read in his coffin; he'd thoughtfully given the vampire a book on American slang, which would be a help once they'd landed. While Ianto didn't for a moment think he'd completely fade into the population, at least he'd avoid sounding like a total prat by not knowing what a person was saying.

He had the small light on, the one that he'd installed in his coffin when Ianto had started subscribing to "certain" magazines. It made reading in bed that much easier; and besides, he didn't relish Owen catching him with his trousers down…literally. At least he could keep the lid down and not draw attention to what he was doing, and it protected his privacy.

Now, with the unmistakable rumble of airplane engines penetrating the heavy wood of the coffin and the special shipping container around it, Ianto curled up on his side and firmly planted nose-in-book.

"Putting on the Ritz…getting dressed up."

"Flapper…a girl."

"Hotsy-totsy…boo-boop-be-do…twenty-three skidoo…" By now, Ianto suspected things weren't quite what they were supposed to be… "What is this?"

He closed the book, letting the copyright page flip open. That was when he rolled his eyes. "Owen…if you weren't already dead…"

It was a good thing he was closed in, or else the offending book would have ended pitched across the cargo hold.

 

* * *

 

Owen Harper really didn't mind being dead.

In fact, there were times when he downright enjoyed it.

Sure, there were so many things he couldn't do anymore: eating, sleeping, and having sex with the myriad buxom shepherdesses he'd seen over the years were but the three most important. But he'd also discovered a love for performing autopsies, even before all the good medical colleges had cadged onto the fact that the best way to learn things about the human anatomy was to cut up dead bodies. Owen was quite sure he could qualify for shit loads of different medical and veterinary degrees if only they accepted zombies into University.

But at least he'd been able to still get his picture taken in order to get his passport. Count bloody Ianto wouldn't have been able to be shipped out of Great Britain without one, even though he was being flown as a corpse…no hard role there. It was just lucky that Owen had been able to get a picture off the internet – and yes, with all the extra time on his hands, he'd spent many a day in the Cardiff Library learning all about computers – of some sort of poncy actor named Gareth-somebody in order to fill that blank spot on Ianto's paperwork. The guy had looked enough like his employer to get away with it.

Did he get any thanks for it? All right…yeah, he had, by being allowed to reserve a seat in first class. Problem was he was stuck next to some overweight grandmother type who somehow had managed to sneak her cat on board past all that so-called airport security. And while he'd enjoyed flirting with the blonde attendant, Owen was a bit depressed by the fact that he wouldn't be able to use the phone number she'd slipped him. Ah well, at least he still had the gift.

The flight landed at JFK early in the morning, which meant that Owen would have to lug the shipping crate with His Nibs' coffin in it to the hotel. Increased security meant that there was a chance that the coffin might actually be searched, which would lead to all sorts of problems, especially if Ianto went up in a puff of smoke if exposed to the daylight. Yeah, vampire-boy had it bad for that model, if he was willing to risk that to finally meet him. A part of Owen was somewhat jealous; at least being a vampire meant that Ianto could actually get off. Although how that worked was beyond him, and he couldn't actually study the effect for several reasons…the main one being that he really didn't want to get that close to take notes.

Speaking of being searched…the guy in the line in front was being hauled off, and Owen didn't think it was to offer him a cup of coffee and a biscuit.

"Next!" the security guard shouted.

Owen moved ahead, pushing the coffin along the rollers it had been set on. He handed over the two passports, plus the paperwork needed to bring a dead body into the country – and the zombie didn't mean himself.

"What do you have to declare?" the guard – looking horribly bored and like he'd kept the local donut franchise in business single-handed – took the offered papers.

"Not a thing, officer." Owen fought to keep a tight rein in himself; he really didn't want to cause the guy to want to check into just what was in the long white box he apparently _wasn't_ declaring.

"Then what's that?" the man asked, not even bothering to check out the documents Owen had spent too much time getting.

"That's all that's left of my father," Owen answered, not daring to look the guard in the eye, for fear of laughing out loud. "I'm bringing him home to bury him next to my mother. That's his passport."

"If you're bringing him back here, then why have you got a British accent?"

"We lived in Britain for a long time," the zombie went on, adding a melodramatic sob to his response. "It was his last wish to come home."

"What did he die of?"

"He was half-eaten by a lion while on safari in Africa." It was really getting hard to keep a sad face on. "What was left, the vultures got. Do you wanna see? They chewed away his eyes and nose, and his mouth…but you can still identify him. He's in three rather large pieces…"

The security guard got paler and paler as Owen went on. Finally, he shook his head and slammed the stamps down onto the passports with more force than was really necessary. "Get outta here!" he snapped, waving Owen on.

It was a good thing, too…because the zombie just couldn't keep his chuckles in any longer.

 

* * *

 

Owen managed to get the boxed-up coffin and their luggage to their hotel and set up on a pair of trestles that the management so nicely provided for a healthy gratuity. He checked his watch; it was still early, and the last thing he wanted to do was to hang around the room waiting for the vampire to wake up.

He decided some exploring would be in order. And his first stop would be the local public library…

 

* * *

 

In many ways, New York was so much better than Cardiff.

In others, it blew chunks.

Owen passed through the city, ignored by pretty much anyone. He didn't really much care, not really wanting anyone to pay attention to him. After all, how do you explain you're an undead zombie with an autopsy fetish who'd been in the employ of a master vampire for the last several hundred years? Yeah right…like that was gonna get him anywhere.

Tracking down the New York Public Library was child's play. The lions out front were a bit ostentatious he thought, but at least they were an easy landmark to spot. They also had a nice collection of fairly up-to-date computers, and after a pretty pleasant couple of hours playing some really fantastic online games, Owen got to work trying to track down Ianto's obsession.

It really wasn't hard to find out what agency Jack Harkness worked for. The man was pretty damned famous, and after getting several hundred thousand hits on Google Owen decided to go with the official site instead of the many fan sites. He found the name of the agency, then Googled it for the address. About half an hour after his search began, Owen was calling for a taxi to take him to the address he'd found.

But first, he knew he had to have a bit of leverage, if he was going to get the information he needed out of the modeling agency.

 

* * *

 

He held the battered lunch box on his lap, standing as the receptionist told him he could go into the office.

Owen tossed her a saucy wink, then entered the office belonging to Jack Harkness' agent. According to the internet – and the door Owen was presently closing behind him – the man's name was Eugene Jones, and to be honest the zombie didn't think much of him. He wore an expensive but tasteless suit, and looked as if he should be on the ground surrounded by bullies instead of behind that large desk.

Owen took the seat opposite the agent. "Thanks for seeing me."

"Not a problem," Eugene answered. "Now, you said your employer is interested in being introduced to my most successful model…"

"Yeah, that's right." Owen scooted a little forward, once again holding the metal lunch box on the knees of his tastefully torn jeans.

"This…count something…"

"Yeah. Count Ianto Jones."

Eugene snorted. "What sort of name is that?"

Oh God, this guy was gonna be a bitch to deal with…"It's Welsh, actually."

"All right…but Jones? Whoever heard of a count with the last name Jones?"

"I work for one." He barely stifled the urge to add "you twat" on after that.

Eugene rolled his eyes. "Please…Russell Davies sent you here, didn't he? I mean, this is some sort of joke, right? Look, go back and tell him it's not my fault he can't get a job in LA, that's no reason to be bugging me…"

"It's not a joke. The Count would very much like to meet Mr. Harkness."

"Look, you have ten seconds to get out of my office, before I call security."

Oh, the guy was gonna play rough. "No…you have ten seconds to tell me where Harkness is gonna be tonight, or…" He gently placed his box on the desk.

"What," Eugene scoffed. "You're gonna eat your lunch at me?"

"No," Owen smirked, unsnapping the clasps holding the lid down, on which the Dukes of Hazzard grinned inanely out at the world, "I'll show you what I can do to you if you don't agree…"

Eugene got one look inside, and let out a very girly screech. He backed away from the desk hurriedly, Owen grinning wickedly. "He's…he's on a shoot, in Central Park! Oh God, close it!"

It looked like stopping by that medical supply house had been a good plan, after all.

 

* * *

 

Jack Harkness was bored.

Really, really bored.

It didn't help that his agent was an idiot. Sometimes he wished he could just void that damned contract, and get a new agent. Eugene didn't seem to have a clue what was going on; really, sending Jack on this particular shoot. All right, he had to admit that the bike shorts showed off his assets perfectly, but who would really buy him as some sort of messenger? This sort of thing was for a younger man.

It didn't help that Jack was beginning to feel his age. Modeling was a kids' game anymore, and to be honest he'd been thinking about retiring and using that degree he'd gotten, just in case the whole modeling thing hadn't worked out. The problem was, he was way too far screwed up now to quit. He _loved_ modeling.

Maybe he could talk to Eugene about getting him some fancy shoots, like suit or tuxedo ads. That would be great.

But standing in Central Park, wearing a skin-tight semi-uniform and holding onto some sort of high-tech bicycle, in the middle of the night, was just nuts.

It didn't take much for him to follow the directions the photographer was calling out to him. Hell, Jack could do expressions in his sleep…which he really needed to get more of. Going clubbing every night was beginning to wear him down, and his looks were what kept him in this business. He stifled a sigh as the make-up people came back in, to touch him up.

There was a commotion back in the crowd that had gathered to watch. Jack had done his duty and flirted with pretty much everyone who'd shown up when he'd first arrived, but after had ignored everyone in favor of work and being bored off his ass.

Jack heard someone call out, but couldn't see past the lights to discover what was going on. He was left on his own again, just wanting things to be done.

That was when the dog appeared.

It was a Rottweiler. It looked up at Jack with strangely pale eyes, then loped forward.

Jack genuinely smiled for the first time that night. "C'mere," he coaxed the animal forward, kneeling.

"Jack…be careful," the photographer warned.

"He's not going to hurt me," Jack answered. He didn't know how he knew that, he just did.

The Rottweiler came right up to him, nose sniffing around Jack's bare ankles. Suddenly a warm tongue dragged itself almost daintily against Jack's skin. "Stop that!" he giggled, embarrassed that it came out sounding girly. "That tickles!"

That didn't dissuade the dog, who kept up its ministrations against Jack's ankle. The model rubbed the large head, finding himself wishing he could take this strange animal home with him. "Will you stop that?" He tried to pull the Rottweiler's muzzle up, but the dog was quite happily doing what it was doing.

A really strange part of Jack found the feeling almost erotic.

Suddenly, the dog was practically ripped away. Jack glanced up, seeing the New York cop tugging the animal away by a rope that he'd obviously looped around its neck. "Hey!" he called out, wanting to stop the mistreatment.

"No one pisses on New York's finest," was the snarled response.

The last thing Jack heard was the mournful cry of the Rottweiler as it was taken away.

 

* * *

 

Ianto made it back to the hotel room, feeling extremely annoyed.

That had been the closest he'd ever been to Jack Harkness, and he hadn't been able to resist changing into a dog when the police officer had refused to let him get any closer to the model. It wasn't his fault that he'd felt the urge to get revenge and had urinated all over the man's leg…okay, maybe it was, just a little. Perhaps if he hadn't done that, he wouldn't have been dragged off to the nearest pound…

A small voice in the back of his head was commenting on just how _nice_ Jack's ankles had tasted. He ignored it, determined to be irritated at his ignominious treatment at the hands of the ASPCA.

Owen was watching something vaguely pornographic on the large television in their room when Ianto arrived. He glanced up, took one look, and said, "You look like shit, boss."

Ianto stopped, glaring. "I need you to do two things for me in the morning: find me a decent tailor who will work nights…this city is like living in a jungle." He was well aware of the damage done to his suit and cape, and he wondered if Owen could hear his teeth grinding.

"Didn't get to see your boy toy?"

"I did…but I didn't enjoy paying $75 for a lousy dog license! And I was lucky to escape the pound with my genitals intact!"

He could tell Owen was barely holding his laughter in check. He really wanted to do some violence to the zombie, but knew it would be a really lousy idea to break something that wouldn't heal.

"And second…you'll find where I can find Jack tomorrow night." He slammed his way into the bedroom, to change his clothes. Then he was going out for a bite to drink…

 

* * *

 

Owen heard the strangest noise when he got in from his errands the next night: it sounded like singing, and it was coming from the vampire's closed coffin.

It wasn't that Owen hadn't ever heard Ianto singing before; he even thought that the vampire lord had a very good voice, although he'd never admit that out loud. But this was different. He sounded…drunk?

The zombie rapped on the coffin lid very carefully. "You okay in there, Vamp Boy?"

The singing stopped. The coffin opened very slowly, to reveal a rather bedraggled Count Ianto Jones, looking up at him with bleary eyes. "No, I'm not okay," came the slurred answer. He rubbed his head painfully. "What was that maniac drinking? It tasted like the Cardiff Bay at low tide…"

Owen assumed he was taking about the person he'd gotten his "dinner" from last night. "Here, let me help you up. You'll be fine in a bit. Besides, I found out what you wanted me to."

That seemed to perk the vampire up. "Do tell."

It took a few minutes, but the zombie eventually managed to get Ianto out of the coffin and onto the sofa. Then Owen reached into the pocket of his jeans, and with a flourish held up a folded piece of paper. "This is where he is tonight…"

The grin just about wiped out the hangover pain that shown in Ianto's blue eyes. "You get that from the agent then?"

"From his personal assistant. Apparently he didn't want to see me, although I can't imagine why." Owen tried to look innocent, but failed miserably.

"Must have been your lunch box."

"Yeah, probably. But the woman must have been warned, because when I showed up there this afternoon, I got no problem at all."

Ianto took the paper like it was a precious treasure. "And here I never thought your predilection for autopsies would come in handy."

"I kept trying to tell you – "

"Yes, you did. Very well done, Owen."

"Can I get a raise?"

"No."

"Bugger."

 

* * *

 

Ianto could feel the beat of the music in his teeth as he walked up to the club.

The bouncer on duty looked like something out of a freak show: all muscles and tattoos and piercings. He blocked the way into the club. "You a member?" he demanded.

Ianto looked him straight in the eye. "I'm looking for someone."

The man's eyes tracked the vampire's, and after a few moments – and some handy mesmerism – he stepped aside. "Aren't we all?" he asked, opening the door.

The place was packed. The vampire made his way through the crowd, sharp eyes on the lookout for the one person he'd come to find.

There he was.

Jack Harkness sat at a secluded table, phone tucked up against his ear. A drink sat at his elbow, looking ignored. If Ianto actually breathed, it would have been stolen away. The man he was staring at was beautiful, even under the strobing lights of the club.

It didn't take him long at all to get to the table. As he moved closer, he could hear the phone conversation. " – I'm telling you, Tosh, he did a complete dump on her…"

Ianto looked down at Jack…the object of his most intense dreams. He was wearing a white shirt, the top three buttons undone and revealing a smooth chest. His brown hair was messily styled, and his blue eyes were narrowed as he spoke to whoever it was on the end of the connection. "Good evening," Ianto murmured, pitching his voice to be heard over the frantic beat of the music.

Jack glanced up, but his eyes didn't seem to take Ianto in. "No thanks, I already ordered," he said, making a vague motion toward his drink with his free hand. Then he went back to his call. "She put him through four years of medical school and two years of residency, plus that internship, and now he won't take her calls….I tried to warn Martha, but she didn't listen…my way's better…you meet someone, you're into them, then you screw them once and it's _hasta la vista_ , baby…"

Well, this wasn't at all what Ianto had had in mind for this meeting…to be ignored like this! He waved his hand toward the phone, cutting the connection using his powers.

"Tosh?" Jack frowned. "Damnit!" He stared at the phone as if it was going to bite him, then closed the clamshell and practically slammed it down on the table.

"I am not a waiter," Ianto began again, sliding into the booth beside the model and throwing his cape back over the seat. "I'm an admirer."

Jack sighed, turning to look at Ianto. "Let me guess…you're either a banker, or you're into handwriting analysis, right?"

"Neither." Ianto slid a little closer. "I've admired you afar, Jack." Well, that didn't sound half cheesy, didn't it?

"How'd you know my name?" There was an actual glimmer of interest in the question.

Ianto couldn't believe that Jack had just asked that. "As I said, I'm an admirer."

"That's nice." Jack still wasn't paying that much attention, taking a sip of his drink instead and looking out over the crowd.

Of course…the model most likely received a lot of attention, and he didn't realize just who was sitting there. Ianto was willing to make allowances for a certain amount of jadedness.

"Jack," he said, trying to draw the man's attention back to him.

This time, it seemed to work. Intense blue eyes settled on him; was that a slight widening? Did Ianto actually see something besides boredom? "Yes?" Jack answered, resting his chin in his hand.

"I want you to look into my eyes…and tell me what you see."

He did. Jack met his gaze directly. "They'd be amazing if they weren't so bloodshot…so I'd think you had too much to drink last night."

"What else?" What would it take to get through to him?

The model looked again, and a strange uneasiness gathered in those staring orbs. "I don't know…you tell me." His voice had pitched a bit lower, and Ianto would have had trouble hearing him if it weren't for his vastly improved vampire hearing.

Ianto shifted a bit closer. "Love," he admitted. He'd come so far to meet this gorgeous man, he wasn't about to let this chance to proclaim his feelings slide. "I love you…and I can give you eternal life."

Whatever he'd seen in Jack's eyes faded, replaced by irritation. "Shit. You're an insurance salesman. You're too late, I already have plenty – "

"I am Count Ianto Jones!" the vampire hissed, his own ardor subsumed into anger, "I do _not_ sell life insurance!"

Jack threw his hands up. "Hey, don't get hostile with me! You walk over here, and start to tell me you love me? How could you? You don't even know me!"

Ianto wanted to argue with that. He knew so much about Jack Harkness, and his past lives…

"Maybe you only know that I don't want to get married or anything," the model went on. He took a swig of his drink.

"I know many things about you," the count slid a little closer. "Secret things…"

"Really?" Jack was looking interested again. "Like what?"

"You enjoy having your ankles licked…"

Jack actually blushed a little. "Listen…maybe we can go back to my place…or your place, whichever…I can't believe I said that…"

It was what Ianto wanted more than anything, but he wasn't done with his first attempt at wooing. He slid out of the booth then held out his hand; Jack glanced at it, then after a few seconds decided to take it.

Ianto pulled the other man out onto the dance floor. He wasn't all that knowledgeable about the dances of the day, but he could fake it fairly well. And he really wanted to dance with Jack; it was one of his fantasies, and he intended to fulfill it.

The song playing almost had a tango beat to it, and so the vampire began with that, smoothly taking the lead although Jack did try to fight him for it at first. Ianto pulled him close, wanting as much contact as possible, as he courted the other man to the beat of a song the vampire had never heard before in his existence.

Jack proved to be an excellent dancer.

And by the time the pair of them left the club, Ianto was more than ready to show Jack his other moves, as well.

 

* * *

 

Jack couldn't believe he'd invited the strange man back to his apartment.

It wasn't something he usually did; if he did meet someone interesting at the club, he always insisted on going back to the other's place. He enjoyed having his own space, somewhere he could go and no one would expect him to look perfect. Letting a stranger into his personal area was an act Jack normally just didn't do.

But there was something about this guy…he couldn't put his finger on it. He'd totally disregarded the so-called count at first, thinking he was simply some sort of weird sycophant in a fancy suit. However, in just the short time they talked Jack had noticed things, and they intrigued him. Maybe it was the accent; or perhaps it was the mesmerizing blue of his eyes; or maybe even the odd coolness of his touch. And that dance…God, Jack had never been turned on more as he'd been after that dance. He'd felt it in his partner too, and if that hardness had been anything to judge by, the man didn't have _anything_ to be ashamed of.

He just had to have a piece of _that_!

There was something else, though. Jack couldn't put his finger on it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. After all, chances were he wouldn't see the man after tonight. Why try to read more into it than was needed?

It didn't help that Jack actually _wanted_ to see the count again…

He ushered Ianto in, taking his cape and hanging it up on the hall tree by the door. "Welcome to my place," he said, feeling oddly nervous. "Is there something I can get you?"

His guest was looking around, and he didn't hide the cringe as he took in the mess that was the model's living room. "A broom, perhaps?"

"Sorry," Jack bustled past, picking up a shirt and a couple of mismatched socks in a vain attempt to make things look a little tidier. "I hate housework. It killed my mother." He gathered up another handful of laundry, saying, "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

With those parting words, Jack headed into the bathroom, taking the dirty clothes with him. Once inside, he shut the door, dropping the laundry on the nearest empty bit of floor and headed toward the sink and splashed some water on his face. _Get a grip, Harkness_ , he thought fiercely. _It's just another guy in for a one-night stand…just because you brought him home doesn't mean anything…_

Taking a deep breath, Jack stripped out of his clubbing outfit, reaching for the robe he kept on the back of the door. As he was changing, he thought he heard speaking from the living room, and caught the words "wake-up call" before deciding to ignore it in favor of making a decent impression. Before he left the room, he ran his fingers through his hair, then took a quick swig of mouthwash, spitting it out in the sink.

"Here I am," he called out, before noticing that the room was empty. For a second Jack thought his mysterious Count had left, but then noticed the curtains from the balcony fluttering in the night breeze. "I'll be right out, I've got something to put us in the mood. Don't go anywhere!"

There was no sound, but for some reason Jack took that as a good sign. He ducked into his kitchen quickly, pulling open the refrigerator. As usual, there was nothing in it…except for his neighbor's cat. "So that's where you've been for the last two days! And here I thought you were lost…" He pulled the small tiger-striped kitten out of the fridge, rubbing his nose against the soft – yet cold – fur before setting the animal down. He'd have to tell Sarah Jane that he'd found the little devil in the morning.

But for now…Jack pulled out the bottle of champagne he'd been saving for a special occasion, grabbing a couple of glasses from the cupboard. He popped the cork and poured some of the cold bubbly into each, almost making a mess but managing to keep things from overflowing by sipping the excess. He then vowed never to drink champagne again after using mouthwash. Ew…

It was a bit chilly outside for just the robe he was wearing, but Jack didn't care. The Count was leaning on the balcony rail, the night lights of New York flickering over his pale skin. Yes, Jack was certainly glad he'd invited the man back. He had a feeling tonight was going to be amazing.

"Hi," he said.

The Count turned, a small smile gracing his lips. "Hi." He stepped closer.

"I got us a little champagne," Jack held the glass out.

Ianto took it, his cool fingers brushing over Jack's, making the model shiver. "I do not drink…wine," he answered, in that accent.

_Crap_. "So much for that." Jack took a hefty drink from his glass, setting it down on the small wrought-iron table he'd put out on the balcony. "I have just the thing…a Perrier water and a twist of lime…I'll be right back." Jack made to move back into the apartment, but a hand on his arm stopped him as he moved past the open door.

He turned…straight into the intense gleam of those blue eyes. The Count pulled him closer, one hand going to Jack's waist as the other grasped the back of the model's neck, holding his head in place as soft lips met his in a kiss that had Jack's toes literally curling.

Jack met the kiss just as passionately, opening his mouth under the Count's questing tongue. He didn't know how long they stood there, pressed against each other, battling for dominance…but he didn't care. This kiss…it was electrifying. He thought he might orgasm just from it alone.

Eventually though, they parted. Jack was breathing quite heavily; but for some reason Ianto wasn't. His mind barely registered it before he was being moved back toward the bed, and if Jack doubted that his new would-be lover wasn't affected by what was happening, then the hardness that pressed against his hip disavowed him of that notion immediately.

"Look," Jack whispered, "before we go any farther, I just need to tell you this is purely physical. I don't expect to see you after tonight. You're not obligated to call me, there's no commitment…"

His knees hit the bed, and the model was suddenly falling onto his back, Ianto following him down. Cool hands were reaching under the robe, driving Jack to distraction.

"Are you listening to me?" he gasped.

"No," was the answer, as Ianto began to kiss and lick his neck.

"Why not?" God, that felt so amazing…what this man's tongue was doing to him…

"Because you're not saying anything I want to hear."

That tongue moved up to just behind Jack's ear, and like that this stranger found one of his major erogenous zones. "I'm…just trying to be honest," he practically squeaked.

"Don't be honest." The hands were still moving, untying the robe and giving him more access.

Jack decided that Ianto was wearing way too many clothes, and proceeded to do something about it. "What should I be?"

"Be beautiful." Lips were once again at his neck, just at the pulse point. "Be romantic." A hand roamed past Jack's waist, and the model no longer cared that the Count seemed to have cold fingers. "Be mine."

There was a small nip at his neck, then a slightly stronger pain. "Oh God…what are you doing?' Jack suddenly felt completely breathless, his arousal ramping up almost to the nth degree. "Are you biting me?"

And that was the last question Jack asked that night.

 

* * *

 

"I don't know, Gwen."

Dr. Gwen Cooper glanced up from the notes she'd been taking, to look at Jack. He was stretched out on the couch, wearing those jeans that drove her absolutely mad.

"It wasn't at all like what we share," he went on, sighing.

"You mean," she answered, "dinner, the movies, occasional sex to relieve anxiety?"

"Oh yeah." The blissed-out look on Jack's face told her more than his words were, and it bothered her that someone had put that expression on his face…and it wasn't her. "It was wild…crazed…it was the most unbelievable sexual fulfillment I've ever experienced."

"Why don't you come by the office next Monday and I'll give you a shot of penicillin."

"Don't be snide, Gwen. I want to get to the bottom of this."

Jack had been her patient for a long time now, and they'd moved into their version of intimacy not long after they'd met. Sure, it was frowned upon to sleep with a patient, but this was Jack Harkness here, and Gwen would have dared any of her colleagues to say no to him. "Well, that's what I'm here for," she answered. "Let's analyze this."

"All right." Jack looked at her askance, waiting.

"Let's see…the first time this happened you blamed it on low blood sugar. The glucose tolerance test – which I paid for – proved negative."

Jack stretched slightly, giving Gwen a very nice view of his well-defined stomach muscles. She wondered if her vibrator was still in her desk…

"The time before that," she went on, trying to get on with business, "you said you were having a double-crisis day – "

"I was!"

Gwen went rooting around in her files, pulling out Jack's latest biorhythm chart. "No…last night you were on a definite optimistic upswing."

"That's true," Jack conceded, a slight smile blooming.

"So much for that bullshit." Gwen took a seat back in her leather chair, swiveling back and forth.

"Doctor, I think you're losing your objectivity," Jack protested.

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Moving right along, the time before that you claimed the CIA had put a mind-altering drug in your Axe body spray. But we checked, and they'd never heard of you!"

"Which I find hard to believe!"

"What does that leave?" She began swiveling again, as she considered her patient/lover lying so decoratively on her couch. "What causes you to behave with such rampant promiscuity, Captain Tightpants?"

Jack was watching her, not seeming at all fazed by her mini rant. He had one eyebrow raised, as if daring her to go on.

Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind, one that she didn't like thinking at all. "No…it couldn't be."

"Just tell me," Jack growled.

"Well, either you're angry at me because of my ambivalence about committing to a definitive relationship – after nine years – or, and this is probably the case…" She looked at him shrewdly. "This is just a fantasy."

"A fantasy?" Jack scoffed.

"Yeah."

"You call this a fantasy?" Jack tilted his head to the side, his hand reaching up to stroke his neck. "Did you ever see a more amazing love bite like that before?"

Gwen moved closer, until she was leaning over Jack. Her heart did a lurch, then began beating a bit faster out of fear.

On the model's neck were two small, perfect bite marks.

"Well?" Jack demanded.

Gwen slumped down onto the couch next to Jack. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"No…"

"What?" Jack was now getting irritated.

"It can't be!"

"It can't be what? God, Gwen…make some sense!"

"Count Ianto Jones." It couldn't be, not after all this time…

"How did you know his name?" Jack's irritation turned to curiosity, judging from the questioning look in his eyes.

"Jones…alive."

"Of course he's alive. I was just with him last night."

"Jack…darling…" She had to get through to him.

"What?"

"You met him a long time ago; he was a very great man."

"Who? Ianto?"

"No, my grandfather, Dr. Fritz Van Helsing." She took a deep breath, resting her hands on Jack's shoulders. "He was the first to discover that…thing…you slept with last night."

"Thing? Excuse me!" Jack reared up, throwing Gwen's hands off. His blue eyes flashed as he stared at her.

"Tell me…how many times did he…" she swallowed, not really wanting to ask but knowing she had to. "…do it?"

Jack actually blushed. "Two and…and half. I fell asleep."

"No, I mean how many times did he…" God, she really didn't want to ask, she didn't want to think it was too late to save Jack. "…bite you."

He rubbed his neck, smiling slightly. "Just once. Like I said, it was our first date."

"It was your first…and your last."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're a jealous bitch, Gwen."

Gwen jumped up, heading toward her book case. She glanced at the titles on the spines, until she found the one she was looking for. Quickly thumbing through the pages, she found what she was looking for. "'Three bites from the vampire, and the victim is doomed'," she read, looking straight at Jack when she was done. "Sweetheart, if that monster bites you twice more, you'll become a vampire…a living corpse."

Jack laughed. "If last night was any indication of what it's like being a corpse, it sure beats the hell out of living!"

"Jack, I'm serious!"

"Gwen, you're crazy! A vampire? In New York City? In the 21st Century?"

She sat back down beside Jack, taking his hand in hers. She _had_ to make him listen! "Sweetheart, trust me. Your life is in danger. I almost love you." Jack rolled his eyes at that, but Gwen plowed on. "Can I just see him? Meet him, with you I mean?"

"I don't know," Jack shook his head. "He's meeting me for drinks later, then taking me for dinner…" He glared at her. "Don't mess it up!"

Gwen wanted to crow with delight, but settled for looking contrite. "No, I won't. Thank you."

The timer on her desk went off, and Gwen was up and looking at her watch. "That's time."

Jack glanced at his own watch. "Really? Already? Time just flies."

He stood up as well, straightening his clothes. Gwen ushered him toward the door, but stopped him just as Jack was reaching for the doorknob.

"Sweetheart, there's one other thing."

Jack turned the power of his blue eyes on her, and Gwen felt herself wavering a little. "Yes?"

"You haven't paid for any of these sessions in over a year," she bit the bullet and went on. "It's not for me, the accountants are all over me, so I'd like a little…you know…"

Jack nodded, then suddenly sighed. "Look, I forgot my checkbook. I know exactly where it is." He rested his hands on her shoulders. "Is it okay if I pay you Tuesday? I'll remember my checkbook then."

Gwen smiled. "Sure, but remember what Freud said…'If you don't pay for it, you don't get better.'"

Jack's lips – and what nice lips they were – followed along with the quote. "I remember. Thank you, Gwen."

"You're welcome, darling. Bye."

After Jack had gone, Gwen closed the door and leaned against it. The expression on her face was somewhat crazed…not that she realized that, of course. "Jones…alive, and in New York!" If it was in her nature, she might have rubbed her hands together almost gleefully. But she didn't. "I won't let him get Jack. I won't…"

 

* * *

 

The hotel bar at the Hilton Kennedy Center was a posh affair, and Jack was reveling in it.

Well, he would have been if Gwen hadn't been determined to find fault with everything she saw.

Sometimes, Jack wondered why he'd gotten involved with her in the first place. He thought it might have been something about free sessions, but that didn't seem right. There was just something about her…something that made him hang around despite their obvious differences. Perhaps it was because they seemed to want the same things, he just wasn't sure anymore.

Or maybe it was just a case that it was familiar, and he was used to it.

But Ianto had really knocked his world off kilter. Jack had only had that one date – and was it really a date, if all they did was have sex? – but there was something about the enigmatic Count that drew him like a moth to a flame. It certain didn't hurt that the man had been fantastic in the sack.

And the best looking guy Jack had seen in ages.

And that accent…Jack could have just drowned in it.

Oh God, he was actually starting a list of just what Count Ianto Jones had going for him, and why Jack wanted to keep him around for a while. So much for his philosophy of one night stands…

"So…where is he?" Gwen asked, for what felt like the tenth time.

"He'll he here," Jack said, also for the tenth time.

"Another fly-by-night type," she snorted, taking a drink of her sparkling water.

Jack didn't know how he knew when Ianto entered the bar, but he was turning in his chair as the Count passed through the doorway and headed toward their table. Jack's breath was taken away; Ianto was wearing a charcoal suit with a dark red shirt and a red and black striped tie. _Red was so his color_ …and Jack didn't want to get into the cape. He'd never thought of himself as having a cape fetish, but Ianto was currently in the process of changing his mind on that score.

"Good evening," Ianto greeted, taking Jack's hand and brushing a kiss across his knuckles. "You look wonderful tonight."

Jack found himself blushing. Him… _Jack Harkness_ …blushing at a compliment! "Ianto…I'd like to introduce you to my psychiatrist, Dr. Gwen Cooper." He tore his eyes away from his date. "Gwen…Count Ianto Jones."

Ianto took a seat next to Jack, and across from Gwen. He smiled slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Cooper."

"Likewise, Count," Gwen answered, returning the smile…although it looked completely fake.

"Please…call me Ianto," the Count invited, although it didn't sound all that cordial. "And I should call you Shrink, since we're here in America."

Jack rolled his eyes, barely resisting the urge to slap Ianto in the arm. "I'm sure the same nickname applies in Wales," he commented, looking the man in the eye and silently telling him to cool off.

Ianto inclined his head, accepting the rebuke. "How was your day, Jack?" he inquired, and the hardness that was in those beautiful blue eyes softened as his attention turned completely to the model.

"Andy ran my ass off all day. He may be the best photographer in New York, but he's still a bitch."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's all right." Jack completely forgot that they were in a public place; he suddenly wanted to kiss Ianto right then and there, for caring like that.

He was just going to act on it, when Gwen's voice cut in. "Can I offer you a cigarette?"

Jack was barely over the surprise that Gwen – who didn't smoke – was offering the Count a cigarette, before the gold case she'd held out was flying toward the floor.

"This is a non-smoking facility, Doctor," Ianto growled. "Although I'm sorry, I apparently broke the mirror." The hardness was back in his eyes, making them look like ice chips as he glared at Gwen.

"It was an accident," Gwen answered, returning his glare.

Okay, this was nuts. The two were throwing visual daggers at each other, and it was all Jack could do not to yell at both of them. This wasn't at all how he'd wanted to evening to go, but then he should have told Gwen to mind her own business and to stay at home.

"Oh, I brought you something, Jack," the doctor went on, smiling an almost wicked smile.

"Really?" This couldn't be so bad; Jack enjoyed gifts as a rule, and Gwen wasn't exactly the gift-giving type.

She slid a wrapped bundle across the table; Jack was so interested in it, he didn't catch Ianto's shudder. "It's a good luck charm," Gwen went on.

Jack eagerly unwrapped the gift. The first thing he noticed as he peeled the tissue paper away was the pungent aroma. "It…smells awful!"

"Yes…it's made of garlic!" Gwen grinned triumphantly.

Jack glanced at Ianto; the other man was practically gagging. "I don't think that's very funny, Gwen!" he snapped, disturbed by his date's reaction.

There was s sudden blur, and the garlic necklace was flying across the room. Jack didn't bother to track its movements; his eyes were on Ianto, who was carefully putting down the bar napkin he'd used to snatch the thing away. "You're getting to be a bore, Dr. Cooper," the man snapped angrily.

Jack had to agree, but before he could say anything Gwen was speaking.

"It's Van Helsing, Count! My grandfather was Dr. Fritz Van Helsing, from London. I changed my name for professional reasons. Is the name familiar to you?" She was beginning to sound downright gleeful, if not a bit nuts.

"Van Helsing?" Ianto's eyes narrowed. "I should have known. Your grandfather was a very wise man, but unfortunately for him I was wiser."

This was going from the weird and into the bizarre. Was Ianto saying he'd known Gwen's grandfather? Jack looked at the man; he didn't look a day over thirty. Well, Gwen was convinced he was a vampire; what if she was right?

Jack kept looking at him, as Ianto and Gwen baited each other. He'd never met a man like Ianto Jones before: intelligent, sexy as hell, and a brilliant lover. Did it really matter if he was some sort of blood-sucking creature of the night?

Oh…hell no. It didn't.

But what was really bothering Jack was the pissing contest going on around him. "Will you two calm it down?" he hissed, glaring at them each in turn.

"No, let her continue," Ianto said, "she's being quite amusing."

"You won't find this so amusing, Count!" With those words, Gwen reached into her blouse, pulling out a pendant.

"What do you have there?" Ianto sneered. "Some wolfsbane?"

"More potent than wolfsbane!" She held the pendant out toward Ianto. "What do you say to this?"

Ianto actually flinched back in his seat, but then began to laugh. "I'd say you should leave Jack alone and find yourself a nice Pagan boy…"

Gwen glanced down; Jack was a bit surprised to see the pentagram on its silver chain. "Oh, shit…it's a different one, isn't it?"

Ianto got to his feet. "As entertaining as this has been, Jack and I have reservations. Better luck next time, Dr. Cooper."

"One last thing!" Gwen exclaimed, also getting to her feet.

"I don't have any more time for your games, Doctor."

"Look into my eyes, Count Ianto Jones…look deeply into my eyes…"

Now this was getting ridiculous. Gwen was staring at Ianto, her hazel eyes widened so far it looked as if her eyeballs would pop out. For the most part, Ianto simply looked bored with it all.

"You are getting sleepy," Gwen went on, her voice flat and calm.

"Knock it off, Gwen" Jack snapped. "I'm starving."

"I'm going to have you find out the truth about this man one way or the other!"

"Don't teach your grandmother how to suck eggs, Cooper," Ianto snarled. "It's you who's getting sleepier…"

Jack stared between the pair of them. Oh fricking hell, this was so stupid! If Gwen were a man, Jack would've sworn they'd both be poisoned on their own testosterone. As it was, he was extremely upset with Ianto for playing Gwen's games, and with Gwen for ruining what could have been a fantastic evening.

So, as they both continued to stare at each other, murmuring shit about getting sleepier and drowsier – although Ianto's accent made _that_ particular word sexier than it had a right to be – Jack gathered his few things and left them to it.

 

* * *

 

A couple of hours later, Jack was wearing his favorite sweats and curled up on the sofa, his fourth glass of wine in his hand. To say he was pissed off would be the understatement of the decade, and the alcohol wasn't really helping his mood.

The thing was, he was also disappointed. Sure, he'd only known Ianto for a day, but he'd hoped for better. Maybe he was at fault for inviting Gwen in the first place, but that didn't mean that Ianto had to have risen to her bait. Jack should have realized that getting them together was a monumentally bad idea, but a part of him had wanted to brag, to show Gwen he was more than just the man-whore she sometimes saw. It wasn't his fault he loved sex; that was just the way he was.

But if he had to be truthful with himself, Jack had been beginning to hope that Ianto could have become more than just a part-time shag.

There was a knock on the door. Jack sighed, not wanting to be bothered.

A second knock echoed through the apartment. "Who's there?" he called out.

"Jack!"

His heart jumped as he recognized Ianto's voice, but at the same time he was still irritated. "Why don't you go back to the bar and play your little mind games with Gwen!" he shouted, not caring if his neighbors complained at the noise.

"Open the door, Jack. Please."

"No, I have company." Jack jumped up, to stand in the middle of the room. He was almost happy at the pleading tone of Ianto's voice. "I don't want to be disturbed."

The door was thrust open, and Jack knew damned well he'd locked the thing when he'd gotten home. A burst of air blew his hair away from his face, and the model gasped at the sight that met his gaze.

Count Ianto Jones stood on the threshold. His hand was outstretched, but it went quickly to his side as he entered the room. He was dressed as he'd been back at the bar, and Jack's mouth went dry even as he was getting angrier. "Cute," he snarked. "But I told you, I've got a man in here."

Ianto glanced around at the obviously empty apartment, and a smirk decorated his handsome features. "Now you do."

"You arrogant son of a bitch!" Jack didn't know whether he wanted to kiss him, or punch his lights out.

A sadness filled Ianto's eyes. "I am Count Ianto Jones. I was once a great power in my land, and yet I feel completely humbled by you." He stepped forward, almost within touching distance. "You're the only man I've ever loved. You belong to me."

Jack had been almost willing to forgive him…until that last comment. He rested his hands on his hips, his anger rekindling. "I'm not your slave…although I'm not adverse to a little role-play. But I've told you I don't want you here. If you don't leave, I'm going to call the police." He went straight to his phone to prove his point.

As he was reaching for the handset, the entire telephone was propelled through the air. Jack's mouth fell open, knowing that Ianto had done that as well. The man was so far beyond anything he'd ever known, and it was frightening yet exciting at the same time.

Ianto took another step forward. "You've long sought different experiences," he said, his voice low and his accent even more pronounced, "but nothing has satisfied you."

Jack's heart was racing. Ianto had said they he knew secret things about him, but this was something else entirely. It was as if he was reading Jack's very soul.

Another step, and Ianto was very much within Jack's personal space. "You long for something wild, something overpowering, to sweep you past thought…"

He didn't know who initiated the kiss, but Jack found himself in Ianto's arms, his lips being crushed against the Count's, their tongues tangling together passionately, and Jack completely lost the anger he'd had as his arousal grew…

But then Ianto was pulling away. "I thought I heard a rooster crow."

"A rooster?" Jack laughed. "In New York City?" He leaned back in, but Ianto stepped back.

"It's late. I need to go."

Jack denied his inner girl, and didn't grab Ianto back toward him. "Wait a minute," he coaxed. "We can go back to bed for a bit…maybe get in a little quickie?"

"No, Jack. With you, it will never be a quickie. Always…a longie," he smirked at the play on words.

Ianto was at the door as Jack called him back once more. "Look, when you come back tonight, you don't need to blow the door down. I'll let you in." He couldn't believe he'd just said that; it was admitting that there was something otherworldly about the man…oh, who was Jack fooling?

 

* * *

 

Gwen walked into the police station, knowing that what she was about to do was _right_. Not just right in the sense that Jack needed to be saved from danger, but that the world would be a much better place without that blood-sucker in it. To do anything, she'd need back-up. And who better than New York's Finest?

She was directed toward a desk at the back of the squad room. A woman sat there, busily interrogating what had to be a suspect in some sort of crime. As she got closer, she could hear the young man practically begging. "Please Detective…I'm sorry! I swear I'll never do it again! It was just one rim!"

"Yeah sure," the detective said in a no-nonsense voice that had Gwen liking her instantly, "but what about the other three?" She sighed, leaning closer to the young man. "Look, tell me the names of the others in your gang and maybe I'll give you a break."

"I don't know their names," the man answered. "I just met them walking down the street…"

"Smart ass," she snapped. "Mickey, I'm gonna throw the book at you – "

"Just a minute, Detective…Swanson," Gwen butted in, taking a look at the name plaque on the desk to get the woman's name.

"Who the hell are you?" Swanson demanded, staring at Gwen like she something that would have been scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

"I just happen to be a doctor of psychiatry," Gwen answered authoritatively. "I think this young man is telling the truth." She smiled softly down at Mickey, who looked up at her with wide dark eyes. "I think he knows what he's done, and he's sorry."

Swanson shook her head. "Well, let me tell you…today it's Corvette rims, and tomorrow Chase Manhattan Bank goes up in smoke."

Gwen knelt beside Mickey, putting on her best professional voice. "Mickey," she said soothingly, digging around in her bag for a card, "I want you to take this." She passed the card over. "Go to this clinic next Tuesday at 2pm and ask for Dr. Smith. You tell him Dr. Gwen Cooper sent you." She met his eyes, which were still wide in surprise. "Is that agreed?"

Suddenly the surprise changed to joy. "Yes, ma'am! Thank you!"

Gwen looked at Swanson. "Detective, unlock the handcuffs."

Swanson looked at her uneasily. "Are you sure?"

"There are no guarantees, only chances." Gwen tried to project all the confidence she was feeling. She'd been doing this for a while now, and knew what she was doing.

The detective stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay, you're the doctor." She leaned over Mickey's manacled hands, unlocking the cuffs. "Mickey, if you make an idiot out of me…go on, get out of here. I don't want to see you back unless you're selling Girl Scout Cookies."

Mickey was grinning like mad. "Girl Scout cookies…Boy Scout cookies…oatmeal cookies…sugar cookies…anything you want! I know where the guy parks his truck at night! I can get you a discount!" His voice was getting farther away, as the young man practically ran out of the squad room.

Gwen took the seat just vacated by the ubiquitous Mickey. "Do you feel better?" she smiled.

Swanson returned it. "Yes, I do. It's crazy, I know, but I really do."

"So do I."

There were a few moments of silence. Gwen really felt like she'd done something good, something that would help that young man more than going to jail. To her, it was a job well done.

"Oh, I almost forgot why I came in," she finally said, turning her attention back to the detective.

"Oh yeah…what's up Doc?" Swanson actually giggled. "Sorry, just a little joke. I just feel so good."

Gwen straightened her spine. "Detective, I'm Dr. Gwen Cooper, and I want to talk to you about a man who sucks the blood out of people."

"A loan shark?' Swanson looked interested. "What's his name?" She pulled her computer keyboard around, the better to get to work.

"No, this is no loan shark," Gwen replied. "This is a vampire."

Suddenly Swanson's face changed, going completely blank. "A vampire." She sounded incredulous.

"Yes," Gwen answered with the surety of her convictions. "His name is Count Ianto Jones, and he bites people in the neck and drinks their blood."

The detective shot to her feet. "Davidson!" she practically screamed. "Get that rotten kid back in here! Now!" She stalked her way from behind her desk. "Somebody! Brockless!"

Gwen grinned. Oh yes, to be taken seriously…"We'll need all the help we can get," she said.

"Get this psycho bitch out of here!"

"What?" Gwen squeaked as strong hands grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. "Wait! I know it's hard to believe!"

"Get her out!"

The cops were dragging her away, but Gwen had to try. "They didn't believe my grandfather either!"

"Get her the hell out now, before I kill her!"

They tossed her out of the station, and as she was picking herself up and examining her hands for concrete burns, Gwen knew she was going to have to get sneaky if she couldn't get help from the police.

 

* * *

 

It hadn't been hard to track down a certain vampiric Count to his hotel.

Gwen was quite surprised, but then if no one believed there was a dangerous blood-sucker in their midst then why should he bother to hide?

It was no trouble at all to check in under a false name. The nice bellman even took her single suitcase up to her room, offering to help if she needed anything. From the way the man was looking at her, Gwen could guess just what sort of "help" the guy had in mind, and had no intention of taking him up on it.

In fact, the moment he was gone, she was out of the room and heading toward the Count's room, her suitcase clutched tightly to her chest.

It didn't take any time at all to pick the lock, and Gwen was grateful that she actually had a patient doing time for breaking and entering. He'd taught her all sorts of useful things during their sessions, including how to get into almost any room with just a hairpin.

She shut the door behind her, glancing across the well-appointed room to the pair of trestles that held the dark wood coffin that her vampire adversary would be sleeping in. Gwen had plenty of time; it was still full daylight, and there would be no chance of the Count escaping, even with the curtains drawn. No, the coast was clear for her to do the work she'd learned at her grandfather's knee.

But as she approached the coffin, Gwen began to wonder just what she was doing…

"A Freudian wouldn't do this," she muttered, staring at the coffin as if she thought it would attack her. "A Jungian would do this…but I'm a Freudian!" Then a manic grin stretched across her features, revealing that gap between her front teeth that had cost her a fortune to a cosmetic surgeon to have done. "But I'm also a Van Helsing!" She slammed the case down onto the lid, pulling the gas can from inside. She began to pour the smelly liquid over the lacquered wood, and when the gasoline was gone she pulled a box of matches from her pants pocket. "And in the name of all the van Helsings who've ever lived…" She lit a match, then threw it into the puddle of fuel. "Burn baby! Burn!"

 

* * *

 

Owen didn't need sleep, and it was just pure luck that he was in the suite when he smelled the smoke.

He pulled back from the sewer rat he'd found the night before, dropping the scalpel as the smell got worse. The zombie darted to the closed door between his room and the living area, throwing it open to reveal the count's coffin on fire.

"Shit!" he shouted, ducking back into his bedroom to call the front desk and report the flames. Then he went back to try to put the blaze out, knowing that Ianto would be trapped inside the coffin while the sun was out.

The vampire didn't stand a chance.

There was a strange woman standing back from the fire, staring out over the flames as if she was examining a job well done. "This is a perfect example of a woman taking charge of her life!" she cried, tilting her head back and grinning. "And I feel…pretty good!"

Owen promptly jumped her.

The door slammed open, and the zombie turned in relief as help arrived. The problem was, they grabbed him instead of the crazy bitch who'd been dead-set – no pun intended – on barbecuing his boss.

The dragged Owen away even as someone was using a fire extinguisher on the coffin. He would have sighed in relief if it weren't for the handcuffs that were being slapped onto his wrists. "You got the wrong one!" he shouted as one of the hotel employees helping the bitch to her feet.

"No!" she screeched! "Let it burn!"

"Damn it!" the man who was holding Owen down shouted. "Got the wrong one!"

Owen rolled his eyes. Bloody genius, that.

The cuffs were removed, and the woman was dragged out. "Let me go! I'm a doctor; I know what I'm doing!"

The flames were out, and Owen would have breathed a sigh of relief if he actually had breath to do such a thing. He ushered the hotel people out – after reassuring the manager that there wouldn't be any lawsuits or anything against the hotel – then ran to check the coffin.

The smooth lacquer was somewhat bubbled, but the damage wasn't too severe. He could get it refinished easily enough, if he could find the right person.

It could have been so much worse…

 

* * *

 

The ambulance ride would have been comfortable if it wasn't for the straps holding Gwen down to the gurney. They were too tight, and her hands were going a bit numb.

"You don't understand," she said, trying to sound calm, "he's a vampire, and he's got to be destroyed."

The paramedics were ignoring her, except to check her vital signs. It bothered her that no one was taking her seriously.

"He's filth. Unclean. He's got to be destroyed." Her voice slipped a bit as one of the attendants began to fill a syringe.

"And you know what I think?" Gwen really didn't want them to stick her with that, and she wanted nothing more for them to understand, "I'm not sure about this, of course. But I suspect he's better in bed with my boyfriend than I am!" That last part sounded horribly like a screech, and somewhere in the back of her mind Gwen realized she'd just completely lost her professionalism.

"Damn, she's really flipped," the attendant with the needle muttered.

"Who's that for?" Gwen decided that hysterical was now called for. "It's not for me! Get the air bubble out!"

 

The last thing she remembered was the prick of the needle.

 

* * *

 

It was sometime much later that Gwen got her first visitor on the ward.

She'd been evaluated, and at that point had regained enough composure to put on a fairly convincing show for the attending psychiatrist. They put her into the open ward, which was fine. But she really needed to get out.

They'd given her drawing supplies – well, a tablet and some crayons – and she was busily at work when Jack came in. He was carrying several boxes of KFC, and Gwen had to wonder just what he thought he was doing.

"How are you?" he asked softly, as if afraid to set her off.

Gwen wondered just how much Jack knew. Had he been told why Gwen had been put under observation? "I'm fine," she answered, smiling reassuringly.

"Been keeping busy?"

Gwen set the tablet face down on the bed, to avoid Jack seeing what she was drawing. "It's nothing."

"Can I see?"

"I'll show it to you when it's finished."

Jack seemed to accept that. He took a seat on the bed next to Gwen's, sliding the stack of KFC boxes onto the bedside table. "Okay. I…picked you up something to eat."

She eyed the offering. "Am I going to be in here that long?" she asked quietly.

"No." Jack answered, "but I thought I'd get some extra, so the others wouldn't get upset."

Gwen leaned forward slightly. "They _are_ upset. It's why they're in here."

Jack looked abashed. "Oh yeah." He cleared his throat. "Look, I talked to your service, and told them you were on vacation – "

"Marry me."

The model's mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Gwen knew it was possibly the only chance to get Jack away from the vampire, even if she didn't actually want to get married. Maybe she could convince Jack after about a year to forget about it… "I think we should get married."

"But you always tell me I don't want to get married!"

"You do. I was going to tell you Tuesday when you came into the office." Gwen moved forward, sliding off the bed to sit with her knees next to Jack's. "I'm gonna get the house. Larchmont, just minutes from downtown. Good schools…no tennis court, but there's room for one. God, we'll love it!"

"Gwen, please!" Jack was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

She didn't pay attention. "A dog…you've always wanted one. I found one…she's not spayed, and I wanted to talk to you about it first." It occurred to Gwen that she was babbling a bit, but didn't let it bother her. "We aren't the same religion or anything, but that's something we can work out later – "

"Gwen!" Jack's voice cut across her words. "You're getting hysterical!"

She took a deep breath. "I know. I'm sorry." She looked into Jack's concerned eyes. "Please get me out of here. You know I'm not insane."

He sighed. "All right. It's been arranged. But you've got to promise to be good."

She tried to stifle the grin that threatened to spread all over her face. "I'll be good." She hoped Jack didn't look behind her back, where she crossed her fingers at the lie. "I'll be better than good. I'll be perfect." She tried to look completely innocent.

It looked like Jack wasn't totally buying it. "No more fires?"

Oh shit…she knew. "No more fires. I promise."

He looked at her closely. Gwen gave him the patented Gwen Cooper doe-eyes, and it seemed to work. "Okay. You'll be out of here in no time. Don't worry about a thing. Why don't you…go back to your drawing."

Jack got up as the announcement that visiting hours were almost over. Gwen watched him go, then leaned back against the headboard once more. She took up the tablet…which had a fairly bad drawing of a vampire on it, blood dripping from its fangs.

Gwen smiled.

 

* * *

 

"Close your eyes."

Jack smiled, doing as Ianto asked. They were seated at a nice table at one of the more romantic restaurants in town, and the model was absolutely loving the attention the handsome count was paying him.

After he'd gone to see Gwen, Jack had taken a long look at what he wanted…and he realized he wanted Ianto. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this about anyone, and he didn't want to lose that. He'd also come to realize that Ianto was exactly what Gwen had claimed: a vampire, and that didn't matter at all. Ianto was everything he'd ever wanted in a lover: attentive, caring, sexy as sin, fantastic in bed…and Jack wanted it to last as long as possible.

"Are you sure your eyes are closed?" Ianto's accented voice sounded almost playful, and Jack grinned, nodding. "Open them now."

Jack did, and at first he didn't see anything different. But then he noticed the small box on the table in front of him. "You didn't have to."

"I know. Open it."

With slightly trembling hands, Jack flipped the lid up, to reveal a gold ring nestled within. "Ianto…it's beautiful." He slid the ring out, letting the red stone capture the light from the overhead fixture. "What is that?"

"A blood…ruby." Ianto took the ring from Jack, sliding it onto the model's finger.

Jack couldn't help but admire it. "And what are those…birds?" He pointed to the designs on each side of the stone.

Ianto simply shrugged. "Creatures of the night…they fly."

"It must have been very expensive."

"Nothing is too expensive when it comes to you."

Which was quite the most romantic thing anyone had said to Jack in a very long time.

This was the problem. This was what Ianto was, and it touched Jack that such attention was being lavished on _him_. He stroked the ring carefully, knowing that whatever they had would end at some point, and that he'd miss it. Hell, Jack _didn't_ want it to end.

Something must have shown on his face, because Ianto reached out to touch Jack's cheek. "What's wrong? You seem so sad."

Jack looked into those beautiful blue eyes, and seeing only love there. "I don't know," he answered helplessly. "I…think I love you, Ianto. But a part of me wants to remain independent, and at the same time I want to be taken care of. But I can't get past the part that thinks I'm just an expensive whore who'll sell anything from dog food to mouthwash for a $1000 a day." He turned away, sighing. "I'm just confused, that's all. I wonder why you're so good to me. Without this face, I'm nothing. I wake up every morning looking for the first wrinkle…the first gray hair…"

Ianto caressed his face once more, bringing Jack's eyes back to him. "Do you think of me as special?"

Jack frowned. "Of course I do!"

"Then how can you think of yourself as nothing, if I love you?" He smiled. It was a gentle, almost shy smile that melted Jack's heart. "Besides, I can arrange it so you never have to look into a mirror again – "

"And I can arrange it so you can!"

Jack's head snapped around at the words. Gwen stood there next to their table, aiming a gun right at Ianto.

His heart froze. All he could do was sit there and stare.

"Another way to kill a vampire," Gwen snarled. "Three silver bullets through the heart!"

The shots were loud, echoing off the walls and making Jack's eardrums ache. Ianto's arm had gone across the model's torso, holding him in his seat as the bullets struck the count's chest.

Nothing happened.

Ianto was staring at Gwen in wry amusement. "No, Dr. Cooper…that's for a werewolf."

Gwen looked confused. "Really? A werewolf? Are you sure?"

Several large men grabbed her from behind, dragging her out of the restaurant. "It's fine!" she shouted. "This was for a werewolf, there was no harm done!" The last thing Jack heard was her yelling, "I'm a doctor! I know what I'm doing!"

"Don't worry Jack," Ianto said, "it was just a minor inconvenience. Although I really liked this waistcoat…"

 

* * *

 

"Who are you?"

Ianto looked at Jack, his blue eyes sparkling in the half-light coming in from the balcony. They were old eyes, deep eyes…eyes that Jack could so easily get lost in.

They were curled up together in Jack's bed. After Gwen's attack in the restaurant, all Jack had wanted to do was get Ianto back to his place, where he proceeded to check to see if there'd been any damage done by the bullets. There hadn't been, and it just made Jack more certain that she'd been right about Ianto.

"When I look into your eyes, I see…" he trailed off, not knowing how to put it into words.

"Places," Ianto murmured, his accent wafting over Jack like a soft blanket. "You see places that you've only ever known in dreams."

"Yes." So many places…so many times.

"They've not been dreams," the count answered softly. "Nor do they ever have to be again."

Jack turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "It's incredible. I finally know what I want."

"What about your career?"

"I don't know," Jack answered honestly. "It's fun…" he turned back to look at his lover. "But then the right person comes along, and it's just not all that important anymore."

"What about Gwen?"

Was that a flash of pain in those ancient eyes? Jack never wanted to see that again. "She just doesn't make me feel the way you do."

Jack didn't wait for Ianto to respond. He rolled over on top of the other man, licking down from his ear and over his neck, where the pulse point for a mortal would be. There was no movement under Jack's questing tongue, but that didn't matter. He could taste Ianto's skin, breathe in a scent that was like the vision of country and dirt and blood. He ran his teeth over the coolness of Ianto throat, nibbling softly but somehow knowing that wasn't enough.

Ianto's chest hitched. "What are you doing?"

Jack grinned, continuing his ministrations. "What does it feel like I'm doing?"

Ianto's arms spasmed around Jack's body, pulling him closer. "After all these years… to have someone bite _me_ again…"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, Jack…never stop."

 

* * *

 

Straightjackets just weren't meant to be worn by women of Gwen's chest dimensions. It was highly uncomfortable, made even more so by the bending movements she had to make in order to use her mouth to turn the pages of the newspaper Swanson had brought her.

" _All the victims had two puncture marks on their necks, but no one could remember how it happened,"_ Gwen read. "Of course they don't! It was Jones!"

She could feel Swanson hovering, and was glad that the detective finally believed her. Gwen knew she'd need all the help she could get against that damned vampire.

She leant over again, her nose dragging over the page in order to turn it. At least the padded floor was easy on her knees. _"Nothing was stolen, and no one was sexually molested."_

"All these years on the force," Swanson mumbled, still sounding half-disbelieving, "and I never was able to crack a really big case. Now, here's my big chance and I have to go after a vampire. God, why couldn't it be a drug bust?"

"So, after four victims and a blood bank robbery," Gwen glanced up at the obviously nervous cop, "you finally believe me!"

"I don't know what to believe, Doc. A lot of funny things are going down in this city."

"Not funny, Detective!" Gwen knew she sounded somewhat hysterical, but being locked up in a padded cell had a tendency to do that to a person. "It's horrible! Messy! Unspeakable!" She looked down at the paper again, noticing that she had to get to another page to read more about the blood bank robbery from the previous night. That just screamed "vampire!" and she knew once Jones had a large supply of blood his trail might vanish. "Help me turn the page!" she whined.

"I'll do more than that." Suddenly Swanson sounded more sure of herself. "I'm gonna get you outta here."

Gwen felt strong hands on her shoulders, pulling her up off the floor. But Swanson overbalanced, and ended up doing a somersault over the restrained psychiatrist and planting her face into the floor.

Well, good thing the floor was thickly padded…

 

* * *

 

It didn't take them long to get to Jack's apartment. Gwen's heart raced; she wanted to see Jack, to see if he was all right. But at the same time, she knew the model was the one person who could lead them to the Count, and while she wanted Jack safe there were more important things to do.

Gwen and Swanson got off on Jack's floor, and together the two women raced down the hallway toward his door. Gwen pounded on it; there was no answer, so she pounded on it harder. Jack just _had_ to be there…

Just as the doctor was about to demand that Swanson break the thing down, the sound of locks rattling on the other side announced Jack's presence. The door opened just a little; the chain was on.

Gwen about panicked. "Oh God, we're too late! He's drained the life out of him!"

Jack's blue eyes rolled. "Can you be any more of a drama queen, Gwen? It's an herbal mask. You've seen me wear them before!"

Gwen took a closer look. What she'd taken as extreme pallor was, in fact, the familiar herbal mask that she'd seen Jack use before.

"But you're right," Jack went on, "you _are_ too late. We're in love. Now please leave."

Gwen snaked a hand through the open door, grabbing Jack by the back of the neck and pulling him forward as far as he could go without his masked face impacting on the panel. "You call this love? Look at this; two sets of bites!"

Swanson craned her head forward to see what Gwen was indication. "I don't know Doc…they're awfully small. Are you sure it's not prickly heat?"

"We've still got time to save him!" Gwen tried to force her way in. "C'mon, I know he's in there!"

Jack's strength was more than a match for Gwen's, and he easily kept her from entering the apartment. "No, Gwen! Get out of here!"

Swanson grabbed the psychiatrist by the shoulder. "We can't just go barging in there! We need a warrant."

"What?" Gwen couldn't believe what she was hearing. "If we don't Jack's immortal soul will be lost forever!"

"Look, I know a friendly judge. We can get one easy." Swanson began to tug her away from the door.

The detective managed to get Gwen halfway to the elevator before Jack called out to her. "Listen, we're getting a Civil Partnership next week. I'm registered at Bloomingdale's – "

"You'll get nothing from me!" Gwen shrieked.

She watched as Jack sent a rude gesture in her direction then shut the door.

 

* * *

 

So much for a friendly judge.

Gwen thought they were lucky she and Swanson were lucky to get out of the courtroom without either of them ending up back in that padded room.

After being ordered out of the courtroom by a red-faced judge Harriet Jones, the pair of them headed back to Jack's. Gwen had wished they'd just broken in like she'd wanted to before, but didn't rub it in too badly. After all, Detective Swanson had been a cop a long time, and was more into obeying the law despite the consequences than Gwen herself was. Of course Swanson didn't have the vested interest that Gwen did, and was more willing to be cautious.

If only the detective hadn't actually mentioned the word 'vampire' to the judge…

"Look, Doc," Swanson stopped them both in the lobby of the apartment building. "I can't do it. If you'll bring them down, I'll do the rest."

This didn't surprise Gwen much. She stifled her sigh. "Fine. You stay here." She made her way to the bank of elevators.

"Wait." Swanson caught up with her, pulling her gun from its holster at her waist. "You might need this."

"Oh, he's already dead," she scoffed, waving off the gift and getting into the arriving elevator car.

 

* * *

 

This time, Gwen knocked softly, hoping that Jack would open the door if she didn't act like she wanted to break it down. It took a few moments, but he did.

Gwen took the opportunity to barge in.

"You can't come in," Jack snarled.

"I'm already in," she answered sweetly, prowling the apartment. "Where is he?"

"He's not here. Why don't you just leave us alone?"

"Where's his damned coffin? I know it's here somewhere…" Gwen bent over suddenly, then stood back up, a shoe in her hand. "And who does this patent leather pump belong to…Cinderella?"

Jack shrugged carelessly.

Gwen found herself by the shelf that sat against the room's far wall. She snatched up the picture that sat there. "It's me!" she cried, brandishing the framed photo like it was some sort of weapon. "I don't see any pictures of him! And you know why there aren't any? Because you can't take _any_ pictures of him…that's why!"

She set it back down, then began to search again. Jones just had to be there, there was no other explanation. It bothered her that the vampire wasn't there, but she and Swanson had checked and Jones and his servant had checked out of their hotel.

But the question was…where were they?

A clatter came from the bathroom, and Gwen was at the door like a shot – only to be forced back by an annoyed zombie holding what looked like a blow dryer. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed, the voice proclaiming him London bred.

Gwen knew exactly who this was; he was mentioned in her grandfather's diary. "So we meet at last, Owen Harper," she greeted, giving him a smile that could have been manic under the right circumstances.

"Oh, we've met," Owen sneered, "when you tried to torch the Count."

"Speaking of the Count…just where is he?"

Owen rolled his eyes. "Where do you think? The airport, getting our tickets."

"Owen!" Jack shouted in surprise. "Why did you tell her that?"

"Because the bad guys always tell the good guys their plans before they kill them," Gwen answered, trying to stare Owen down.

"Oh please," the zombie sighed. "Are you the Queen of Clichés, or something?"

"We should let history decide who's right and who's wrong."

"You're really crazy, you know that?"

With a sudden burst of strength, Gwen pushed Owen back into the bathroom, sending the zombie almost into the toilet. She slammed the door shut, quickly grabbing the nearest object to wedge it closed…which happened to be a bar stool that had been pulled up to the kitchen island. She snugged the seat up under the knob even as Owen began pounding on the door, demanding to be let out.

"Gwen!" Jack shouted. He stood there, hands on his hips, looking at her like she was insane.

But the doctor knew she wasn't. Knew that she was right, that this was for Jack's own good. She had to save him from the vampire.

So she reached out, grabbing his arm. "Come with me, Jack."

"I'm not going anywhere," he answered sharply. "Look…I love him and he loves me. Why don't you take a walk around the block and explain that to yourself?"

Gwen released her grip on him, knowing he wasn't about to come voluntarily. She stepped back, shoving her hands into the coat that hid the fact that she was only wearing scrubs. Her fingers closed over the object she'd been able to grab from the hospital pharmacy.

"Okay, I'm sorry," she said, trying to look contrite. "I've been way out of line."

Her contrition must have appeared real, because Jack was relaxing. "It's fine, Gwen."

"No, it's not. I really am sorry. You've seen the last of me." She went to move past him, toward the still open front door, pulling the syringe from her coat. "Sorry that it had to end this way…"

Then she was behind Jack, the syringe held out. He actually squawked as the needle penetrated his skin.

"Say goodnight, Gracie!" Gwen chortled as the sedative took effect, and Jack collapsed to the floor in a heap.

That was, of course, when she realized that she hadn't quite thought out this part of her plan quite as thoroughly as she should have.

And that was also when the lights decided to start flickering.

 

* * *

 

Gwen managed to get Jack to the elevator only by enlisting the help of a fellow tenant who'd heard the argument and had come to see what was going on. Which was a good thing; she'd never have been able to get him into the elevator by herself. Also luckily Owen had stopped pounding on the bathroom door, or else that would have been a mess to explain.

"Jet lag," Gwen chuckled, although it sounded really fake to her ears, as she and the guy down the hall manhandled the sleeping Jack into the elevator. The man looked like he wasn't sure whether to believe her, but together they got Jack inside the car, going down.

They weren't the only ones in the elevator. There were five others, including a priest and a strange looking man holding a pink dog. Gwen ignored them all, her attention all on the sedated Jack, knowing she had perhaps twenty minutes before the weak drug would wear off. She'd get him down to Swanson, and then they'd come up with a plan to trap the blood-sucker.

As soon as she thought that, the lights flickered again, and this time they stayed off. The elevator car jerked to a halt, and if the neighbor hadn't been helping hold Jack up both the model and Gwen would have gone to the floor.

The others immediately began to babble, going on about being trapped and that it was just a brown out. Someone produced a lighter, and soon a faint light was illuminating their temporary prison.

Gwen was getting antsy. The longer they were trapped, the more chance Jack would wake up…

 

* * *

 

Ianto flew onto the balcony of Jack's apartment, changing back from the bat form he'd taken to come back from the travel agent's.

Usually he let Owen handle things like that, but the vampire really wanted to plan this trip himself. He wanted to show Jack the world, and he wanted it to be him doing whatever it took to make the other man happy.

He entered in through the balcony doors, expecting to see Jack and Owen busily preparing for the trip. But the place was empty.

"Jack?" he called out. "Owen?"

"In here!" came Owen's pissed off voice from the bathroom.

Ianto was surprised to find the bar stool jammed under the doorknob. He yanked it out, flinging it across the room in a show of vampiric strength.

The door flew open, revealing a sharply cursing zombie. If Ianto still had a fully-functioning circulatory system he would have blushed.

"She just barged in!" Owen was ranting. "Damned bitch, locking me in the loo like that!"

"Who…Gwen?" Ianto felt the anger building.

"Who else? Heard her and Jack fighting, but then it went quiet. She must have gotten him out of here somehow."

Ianto actually ground his teeth. Why couldn't Gwen Cooper just leave them alone? How hard was it for her to accept that Jack wasn't hers? "When did they leave?"

"Not that long ago. You gonna track them down?"

Ianto didn't answer. Instead, he pulled the tickets he'd just picked up out of his inside jacket pocket, and handed them to Owen. The zombie glanced at them. "Shit, boss. London? I thought you'd never go back there again!"

So had he. "Just like old times."

"Getting maudlin in your old age?"

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Please. Just go and get everything to the airport. I'll take care of Jack…and Gwen."

With that, he swept out of the room, his cape billowing out behind him.

 

* * *

 

Jack came to slowly, his head feeling like it was filled with cotton wool. He shook himself, and realized at one that he wasn't in his apartment any longer. In fact, he looked like he was in the elevator…and it was strangely dark.

And then he remembered what had happened.

"Let go of me, Dr. Cooper!" he snapped, shrugging himself out of Gwen's grip. Someone was also holding him up from behind, and Jack took the opportunity to shake that grasp as well.

"It's all right, Jack," Gwen tried to soothe, but instead coming off a little whiny, "everything's gonna be all right."

"I know what you did to me, Gwen." Jack glared down at her. How could she just ignore everything he'd told her? "Why can't you just leave us alone?"

"Hey, calm down!" one of the elevator passengers cried. "It's too close in here for yelling!"

Jack took a look around, and immediately realized that the car wasn't moving and that the only light was coming from a lighter being held up by a guy who wouldn't have looked out of place at a rock concert. Being a citizen of New York City Jack knew it for what it was.

"Jack!"

His head snapped up toward the ceiling, a grin splitting his face in two. "Ianto!" he called, recognizing the voice coming from the shaft above.

The group trapped with him began to shout as well, collectively knowing that someone was coming to the rescue.

Gwen, however, went livid.

"You fools!" she screeched. "How stupid can you all be? That's Jones! You can't call him down here!"

"Jones?" the lone woman - Jack recognized her from the floor above him – asked curiously. "Jones who?"

"He's a blood-sucking vampire!" Gwen answered, practically jumping up and down in her distress. "Haven't you read the newspapers? He's on his way down here after this man, and God knows who's next!"

Jack noticed the looks Gwen was getting, and if he didn't already know about Ianto's undead state he might have done the same. But he did, and was grateful that people just didn't believe in such things as vampires these days.

That was when the others all jumped on Gwen.

Jack's grin went wider. He couldn't help it.

 

* * *

 

Ianto alighted on the roof of the stalled lift, throwing open the trapdoor to reveal the smiling face of his soulmate. "Fancy meeting you here," he said, returning the smile with a small one of his own.

"Well," Jack drawled, "I thought I'd just hang around here and wait for you."

Ianto reached down, holding out his hand. Jack grasped it, and the vampire used his substantial strength to pull the model up and onto the roof with him.

"Remember," the woman from below called up, "Mrs. Tyler in 6B. Please turn off the pot roast!'"

"And don't forget to tell them we're stuck in here!' the man with the pink dog added.

"I won't forget," Jack promised.

Ianto almost didn't wait for Jack to stand back upright; he pulled the other man toward him, kissing him passionately. Jack met his kiss, letting their tongues tangle together for a short while before Ianto pulled away reluctantly. "When I saw you gone – "

"But you came for me," Jack whispered.

"I'll always come for you."

"I know." Jack smiled. "Let's say we get out of here?"

"At the risk of emasculating you…hold on and I'll carry you up."

"Emasculate me?" Jack scoffed, taking Ianto's direction and putting his arms around the vampire's neck. "Do you have any idea how much I paid for this manicure? You're doing me a favor!"

Ianto chuckled, turning back to the cable he'd climbed down. With very little effort he pulled both of them upward, toward Jack's floor.

"Listen," Jack said, "is Owen single?"

"Yes," Ianto answered slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just that I think he'd like my friend Tosh…"

 

* * *

 

They'd held Gwen down on the floor, someone's hat stuffed in her mouth. She was practically shaking as Ianto carried Jack away up the elevator shaft, knowing she could do nothing to stop it. These fools just didn't see what she did; didn't see the danger Ianto Jones posed to the world. It was her duty to stop him, and to get Jack back.

It was only minutes after Jack had gone that the elevator lurched, and the lights came back on. There was general merrymaking from the occupants of the car, and she was helped to her feet.

"Sorry about that, sweetheart," one of the men said, brushing Gwen down and copping a feel as he did. "But you went a little nuts there."

"If you ever need anything," the priest said, patting her on the arm, "I'm right across the street at St. Vincent's."

That offer made Gwen a little angry; the man called himself a priest and didn't recognize pure evil when he saw it?

She barely escaped the elevator without punching anyone.

"Swanson!" she shouted, as soon as the doors began to open.

The tall cop turned, looking at her askance. She looked frazzled, as if the brown out had taxed her patience. "What?"

"I had Jack," Gwen panted, upset. "I had him, but that damned vampire took him up the elevator shaft."

"All right," the detective snapped, "what goes up, must come down. Come on."

Together they exited the lobby onto the sidewalk. The crowd outside seemed a bit excitable, rushing around as if they'd never seen a power failure before. One man was hawking flashlights at $50 apiece; Swanson threatened him, and the price went down to $20.

"Excuse me," a voice said from Gwen's elbow, "could you tell me what you were doing during the power outage?"

Gwen turned at the question, recognizing the person asking as one of the local television reporters. She couldn't remember her name, though. "This is live?"

"Yes," the reporter answered, shoving a microphone under Gwen's chin.

Gwen took the opportunity, grabbing the mike and holding onto it for dear life. "There's a vampire loose in the city," she said sharply. "Lock up your loved ones – "

The reporter wrestled the microphone back, as Swanson was dragging Gwen off.

"He's already got my guy!" the psychiatrist cried, trying to get back in front of the camera.

"Come on," Swanson snapped, pulling harder.

Gwen was distracted from her statement to the press, in time to see Ianto and Jack get into a taxi. "There they are!" she shouted, pointing.

Jack must have heard her; he glanced in her direction, his eyes narrowing as he made visual contact.

"My car's this way," Swanson tugged her away, toward where they'd parked earlier. But the detective swore as they got closer.

The vehicle's tires were missing.

A familiar dark head popped up from the other side of the car at Swanson's cursing.

"Oh…hi Doc!" Mickey greeted, smiling brightly.

"Hello, Mickey," Gwen returned it.

"I guess I'll see you at the clinic." With those parting words, Mickey rolled the last tire away.

Swanson glared. "I told you so."

"Maybe it's therapy," Gwen shrugged.

The cop gave her a "sure, yeah" look, then tugged her away from the stripped vehicle. "There's a bike. Come on."

Gwen took one look at the police motorcycle, weighed the pros and cons of actually getting onto the thing, then decided the only way they were going to catch either man needs must.

 

* * *

 

"They're following us," Jack said, turning around to face the front again.

"What?" the taxi driver asked, his eyes narrowing in the rear view mirror. "Who's following us?"

Ianto ignored him. He was perusing a map, trying to find the best way to JFK. He began giving directions, much to the driver's irritation.

"You wanna come up here and drive?"

"If necessary," Ianto answered carelessly as he kept his nose on the map. He hoped that Owen would get their luggage to the airport in time.

Then they promptly ran into traffic on the expressway.

Their driver swore. "Looks like we're stuck." He smirked. "We could have an orgy while we wait."

"And I didn't think this night could get worse," Ianto snarked. He glanced up at the driver's cab license pinned to the visor over the man's head. "John Hart, driver 456…close your eyes."

"The last person who said that had me handcuffed to my bed," the driver answered salaciously, but did as Ianto bid.

The vampire rolled his own eyes. He reached into himself, touching the power he had as a vampire lord. His hand waved…and the cab suddenly shot forward, taking to two wheels in order to thread its way through the stalled traffic.

Jack slid across the seat due to gravity, to lean against Ianto. The vampire smiled and put his arm around the other man.

"Did you plan this?" Jack accused playfully.

Ianto simply raised an eyebrow, making the model snicker.

"Well, guess this means I don't have to have my tires rotated this month," their driver, John Hart, said, sounding really happy about it. "Sure I can't talk you both into a threesome in order to say thanks?"

The traffic was getting worse, and Ianto didn't think he could keep up breaking the laws of physics to keep the car moving. "Drive on the grass," he ordered.

"That's illegal!" Hart exclaimed. "But what the hell!"

 

* * *

 

Gwen peered over Swanson's shoulder, her eyes widening as she watched the cab with their quarry veer off the expressway and into the median, then into a patch of trees that lined the road. "He's gonna get them killed doing that!" the detective shouted over her shoulder.

"I told you," Gwen shouted back, "he's already dead!"

That didn't stop Gwen from worrying about Jack. The way the cab was dodging in and out of the trees, she couldn't help but be afraid that they'd pile up against one of them, and Jack would be lost to her. Sure, Ianto would survive…but there had only been two bites, and Jack was still mortal.

"How much did you say this guy owes you?"

"The money doesn't matter," Gwen snapped back…and then realized what she'd just said was completely true. The money no longer mattered. Jack was what was important. "There's a really good chance that I love him!"

 

* * *

 

"Watch out for that tree!" Jack exclaimed.

"Tell your boyfriend!" Hart shot back. "I haven't been driving for the last five minutes!"

Jack turned to look at Ianto. The vampire was looking straight ahead, one hand outstretched, as the cab swerved to avoid said tree. The vehicle swerved once more, going back on track.

It was amazing, the power Ianto had. Jack was in awe of him. This powerful man – okay, vampire – had chosen _him_. Loved _him_. It was a heady and amazing feeling. and Jack had to wonder just what he'd done to deserve it.

Suddenly the taxi reared upward to avoid a line of bushes. Jack gasped, but Ianto didn't seem to be bothered at all as the cab went airborne.

They cleared the bushes with inches to spare, slamming down to earth with a sharp lurch. John Hart whooped in sheer delight.

Jack turned back; there was a couple on a bench that had been hidden by the shrubbery. "Look….they're still kissing. How romantic."

Ianto spared a glance as well; and on his way back to paying attention to where they were going, he brushed his lips against Jack's. Jack shivered at the contact, knowing that no one had ever made him feel like this.

 

* * *

 

"Get on the radio!" Gwen cried, as they maneuvered around a clump of shrubbery. "Call for back-up!"

"And what am I supposed to say?" Swanson demanded. "Tell them I'm on a stolen police bike with a psychiatrist, chasing a vampire about to put the bite on her boyfriend so he can turn into a bat?"

"Yeah! Tell them that!"

Swanson said something that Gwen didn't hear, but there wasn't a radio call.

 

* * *

 

The taxi pulled up into the unloading zone of JFK airport, coming to a smooth halt in front of the baggage check-in. "How much do I owe you?" Ianto asked, reaching for his wallet.

"Owe me?" Hart snorted. "Forget about it. I've been driving people to the airport for years now, and that was the first time I've taken a flight. Although, I wouldn't mind that threesome…"

Ianto and Jack clambered from the cab, the vampire thinking that if he ever saw John Hart again it would be too soon…

The airport was fairly busy, and Ianto could just make out Owen standing at the check-in, looking somewhat pissed off. As they got nearer, Ianto could make out the argument in progress.

"- I don't understand how it could've happened!" the embarrassed agent said.

"Can't anyone read a simple transport label?" Owen snapped, glaring at the poor woman so harshly it was a wonder she didn't melt under the heat.

"When it arrives in Jamaica, it'll be sent on to London immediately."

"That'll be too late!" the zombie snarled.

"What's going on?" Ianto asked, approaching the desk.

"We got a problem, boss." Owen narrowed his eyes at the hapless woman, then turned to regard Ianto and Jack.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ianto saw the motorcycle bearing Gwen and her police friend pull up in front of the glass doors. "Correction, Owen…several problems."

With that, Ianto smiled at Jack. "Age before beauty. Come with me." He ducked through the luggage check, to the annoyance of the agent and a burly security guard that happened to see. Jack followed, and Ianto was glad for it. Together they seated themselves on the conveyor that would have taken the luggage back into the loading area.

"But boss!" Owen called out. "The coffin's on the way to bloody Jamaica!"

Ianto rolled his eyes. Of course this would happen, when they were desperate to get away. "Then we'll see you in Jamaica!" Then they were out of sight, although not before he heard Owen request a flight change to Jamaica.

 

* * *

 

Somehow they managed to avoid security and various other airport employees and made their way out onto the runway. Ianto had Jack's hand, pulling the model along toward the flight line, where the plane to Jamaica would be waiting. Jack didn't know how they'd get onboard, but he knew somehow Ianto would manage it.

Besides, he'd always wanted to go there anyway.

But Jack realized they weren't going to make it. It was practically impossible to find the one plane going to their destination, not out on the tarmac as they were.

"Wait, stop!" he called, bringing them both to a halt. "We'll never make it!"

Ianto glanced around, looking at the long line of jets waiting to board. Then he sighed. "You're right. But…there's another way."

He was looking at Jack, those intense blue eyes searching the model's own. Jack saw so much in those eyes: how ancient they were, and lonely.

"The third bite." Jack ran a hand through his hair. Now that it came down to it… "I don't know, Ianto. I mean, you're a beautiful lover…and a great dancer. You go through doors great." He felt his heart lurch painfully in his chest, as he saw Ianto's eyes dull. "I don't know! You'll have to tell me what to do!"

"You have to make the choice." The pain in his voice was evident.

"I don't think I can!" Jack wanted to be with him; _needed_ to be with him. Was in awe of Ianto Jones and everything he could do. But it would mean giving up his life, and everything he had. He'd thought he'd been so ready to do just that, and now that it comes down to it…he just couldn't decide.

Ianto backed away. Jack's heart clenched at the pain he saw in the vampire's blue eyes, and he remembered thinking that he'd never wanted to see that pain again. Yet here he was, causing this man he loved to hurt.

"As for me," Ianto whispered, his voice ethereal, "in a world without love…it's better to be dead."

God, this was so wrong! How could Jack hurt this man, who promised him so much?

He was distracted from his churning thoughts by Gwen's voice. He looked around, finally seeing her running toward them. "Jack! Wait! I'm pretty sure I love you! What am I saying? Of course I love you!" There was a pause. "I think!"

Ianto was right. It didn't matter how he lived, but if he lived without love, then life wasn't worth living. He didn't love Gwen, and he was pretty sure she would never truly love him.

But Ianto…his love for Jack simply radiated out of him, and it warmed Jack like the sun. He could never doubt how Ianto felt about him.

He made his decision.

Jack stepped up to the master vampire. "Do it now, Ianto," he murmured, tilting his head to give him access to his neck.

Ianto sighed softly. He lifted his arm, pulling his cape around them, to shelter them from prying eyes.

And then his lips were on Jack's neck, his teeth scraping against Jack's skin. When they penetrated, Jack felt like he was finally where he belonged.

 

* * *

 

Gwen was racing toward the vampire and Jack, raising her arm. "The third way to kill a vampire, Count! A wooden stake through the heart!"

She aimed at the cape that seemed to call out to her like a target. Screaming a strange sort of battle cry, Gwen leapt onto the cape, plunging her stake toward what had to have been the vampire's heart.

The only problem was there was nothing behind the cape to catch her as she fell toward the hard tarmac. Her knees were scraped by the impact, but she didn't care; she kept stabbing downward, until Swanson's hand on her arm stopped the motion.

"Stop it Doc," the cop said, kneeling beside Gwen. She tugged at the cape, pulling it away from the concrete. "See? They're gone."

"Gone." Gwen knelt back onto her calves, looking up at the sky. "Jack!" she tried to call out, but her voice was rough from all her screaming. "Please don't go, I need you! Let's talk about this!"

But she knew she was too late. Jack had made his choice, and he chose that damned vampire.

She couldn't be mad at him, though. She knew from her grandfather's journal that vampires were sensual creatures, and so was Jack. She'd seen his love for the Count, but had hoped he'd pick life before everlasting death.

Then she noticed something fluttering down from the sky. Reaching out, Gwen plucked it out of the air.

It was a check.

Gwen had to smile. "Jack paid me everything he owed me. He left me, but he learned something. He's a responsible person now…or whatever."

Swanson helped her to her feet, and Gwen gathered up the cape. She slung it over her arm, thinking that perhaps a souvenir of events would help her get over being dumped. Then they began to walk back toward the terminal.

"What was it with that guy?" she mused. "I mean, what did he have? Was it the accent? 'Good evening'," she managed a passable Welsh accent.

"Naw," Swanson said. "It was the cape."

"The cape?" Gwen scoffed.

"Yeah, sure."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Try it out."

Swanson grabbed the cape, flinging it over Gwen's shoulders. She took a good look as Gwen made various poses with it. "What do you think?" Gwen asked.

"Definitely the cape. It looks fantastic on you, and you're not a man."

"You think so?"

"I think so." They began walking once more. Swanson seemed deep in thought. "Listen, Doc. I have an anniversary coming up. If I came home this Friday, with a bottle of wine and that cape, I think it would drive my significant other wild." She gave Gwen puppy dog eyes. "Please… can I borrow it? Just for one night?"

Gwen couldn't get over the whole idea of cape allure, but if Swanson believed it… "All right."

"Thanks!"

"But I want it back on Saturday for the weekend."

"Sure. I'll even have it dry-cleaned."

Gwen smiled. She took one last look up toward the night sky, wishing Jack well.

But knowing that, if she ever crossed paths with Count Ianto Jones again, he was a dead vampire.

 

* * *

 

Ianto couldn't believe how happy he was.

His vampire senses – even strong in his bat form – could sense his love flying beside him. He'd really thought Jack was going to turn him down, but in the end he hadn't, and that made Ianto happier than he'd been in centuries.

He was with his soulmate. And they had eternity.

" _I think I'm going to love immortality,"_ Jack's voice echoed through Ianto's mind, its tones caressing his thoughts much as Jack's physical hands would caress his flesh.

" _There is one disadvantage,"_ Ianto warned lightly. _"We can only live by night."_

Jack's laughter warmed Ianto's dead heart. _"That's okay by me. I mean, I could never get my shit together until 7pm anyway."_

Count Ianto Jones and his chosen Consort, Jack Harkness, flew on through the moonlight, heading toward their new existences together.

 


End file.
